


His soft echo

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 18 October. Written for dn_contest over at Livejournal.</p>
    </blockquote>





	His soft echo

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 18 October. Written for dn_contest over at Livejournal.

Mello looks at the light splashing on the carpet. He shuffles his bare feet on the warm, soft material.

He doesn't remember when in the the last weeks he has took this habit to seat on the floor, in front of the window. He isn't even allowed to be in this room. This room where still his smell lingers around. Sometimes Mello thinks that it is exactly because of this smell that he can't think straight when he is here.

The sunlight that slips through the already dusty glass, is warm on his feet. It makes him think of winter nights in front of the fire or under soft duvets.

The rim of the bottle is cold against his lips, he shuts his eyes closed and his feet's fingers curl up. It's strange how the sound of the liquor falling back down into the bottle is lonely.

A lonely sound in an empty room.

And it echoes again and again till what is left is just few drops of vodka, abandoned against the glass.

It's when the sun has already started to fall that he appears. His back leaned against the window, his skin pale as ever, his feet lighter than ever on the carpet.

Mello sits, his fingers closed around the cold glass of the bottle, and tries to remember how to breath. It's always like this, he doesn't say anything, but his eyes are softer, as to say "I'm glad to be home again".

And Mello tries with all his might not to bat his eyelashes because even that little movement can blow away his image.

When the sun light finally fades away he slowly, elegantly vanishes; first his baggy blue jeans, then his white shirt then his grey, round eyes and finally Mello's hope.

And all that Mello can do is remain there, hot tears forcing their way down his cheeks as he curses himself for not accepting that L has been taken away.

As he curses his intelligence because it allows him to believe in God but not in that trembling, familiar image.


End file.
